


In Fenris's Eyes

by AuroraAthena



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Healing, Healing Hawke, Jealous Fenris (Dragon Age), Light Angst, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), POV Fenris (Dragon Age), Purple Hawke (Dragon Age), Slow Burn, healer Hawke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:49:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21606334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraAthena/pseuds/AuroraAthena
Summary: The first meeting of Hawke and Fenris could hardly be called serendipitous. It was planned, plotted and schemed: and the plan went wrong. Yet, when a man with Lyrium markings meets a woman with Lyrium eyes, and she agrees to help him, what else can it be but fate?This is the story of Fenris, and how he met Hawke, a lyrium-eyed mage. This is part of a series I'm starting, telling the tale of a Purple Mage Hawke through the eyes of her companions. The story can be read from any perspective, but each account will differ; it will be much the same up to a point, which will be indicated in the text.
Relationships: Fenris/Female Hawke
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	In Fenris's Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> '“Serah Hawke,” she says, bowing at the waist with a flourish, “At your service.” She looks up from her bend and smiles. Her eyes sparkle up at him, and he feels his breath hitch in his throat. Now he knows what it’s like to fully hold her attention. It’s breathtaking.'
> 
> The first meeting between the former slave and the mage could hardly be called serendipitous. It was planned, plotted and schemed: and the plan went wrong. Yet, when a man with Lyrium markings meets a woman with Lyrium eyes, and she agrees to help him, Fenris begins to wonder. What else can it be but fate?
> 
> The first encounter of Fenris and Hawke; follows the game's mission for a while but contains more.

She’s a beautiful woman: that much is obvious. Bright blue eyes that seem match his Lyrium markings when she laughs. Hair whiter than snow that curls around her pale face where it escapes her braid. Small, almost invisible tattoos under her eyes, decorating her pronounced cheekbones. And full, red lips that seem perpetually curled in amusement. Her looks are, in a word, otherworldly.

The first thing she says to him is a joke - or at least he thinks it is. He wonders if she is always this jovial. Then he realises that her humour is not as irritating as it should be, and a small smile escapes onto his lips. Chiding himself for getting distracted, he attempts to show his gratitude for her - albeit unwitting- assistance.

“I apologise. When I asked Anso to provide a distraction from the hunters, I had no idea they’d be so numerous.”

“Don’t worry. We do this sort of thing often,” She responds lightly, as though the experience of being ambushed isn’t new or remarkable to her. 

_You regularly take on Tevinter slave-hunters?_

“Impressive,” He replies, and it is. Two human women, a man and a dwarf, taking on at least thirty determined slave hunters - and emerging victorious and unharmed - is quite the feat, he thinks. “My name is Fenris. These men were Imperial bounty hunters seeking to recover a magister’s lost property, namely myself. They were trying to lure me into the open. Crude as their methods were, I could not face them alone.”

He acknowledges Anso’s wise choice in her. She does not respond to the compliment.

“Everything Anso said was a lie then?” She doesn’t sound angry, merely disappointed. He is not sure why she would be. She will still get her coin. He points out that the lie was her employer, not the task.

“If you couldn’t fight them, why not just run?”

“There comes a time when you must stop running - when you turn and face the tiger.” He assumes that she does not understand the severity of his predicament. It will not be until many months later that he will realise that she had understood, that she merely wanted to hear his convictions from his own lips. To give him a chance to speak.

Again she does not respond directly.

“That seems like a lot of effort to find one slave.”

“It is.” He sees it in her eyes, an intelligence that her calm demeanour belies. She’s testing him. Waiting to see if he’ll offer up more information than necessary. He doesn’t.

“Does this have something to do with those markings?” She asks, casually gesturing to him with a pointed finger. She is oddly unconcerned about his extensive markings.

“Yes. I imagine I must look strange to you. I did not receive these markings by choice. Even so, they have served me well. Without them, I would still be a slave.”

She cannot hide the look of curiosity that flashes across her face - like she wants to study him. Still, she does not act on this idea. It seems her questions are over, for she merely looks at him for a while.

“Anso’s job did seem a little too easy.”

He ignores the slight brag at her apparent skill. “Perhaps the deception was unnecessary. If so I am sorry. I have become too accustomed to hiding.” He asks what was in the chest. She responds, and the answer is not as he’d hoped.

“You were expecting something else?”

“I was, but I shouldn’t have, it was bait, nothing more.”

Then, a small grin finds its way to her face, as if she’d been holding back through their conversation.

“All that for an empty chest?”

“No, there’s more.” He frisks the body of the hunter-captain, finding a sheet of paper detailing the instructions from his master. Former master. His gut clenches. **He’s here.** He looks up at her, noting her still calm demeanour. If she survived those slavers, maybe she can assist in outlasting Danarius.

“It’s as I thought. My former master accompanied them to the city. I know you have questions, but I must confront him before he flees. I will need your help.”

“It sounds like you intend to do more than just talk,” she states lightly.

At once, his blood is on fire. “Danarius wants to strip the flesh from my bones and has sent so many hunters that I have lost count. And before that, he kept me on a leash like a Qunari mage, a personal pet to mock Qunari custom. So, yes, I intend to do more than just **talk**.” How does she not understand his desire for freedom? 

“Ouch,” the dwarf pipes up. Fenris ignores him.

Still, the woman shows no reaction, although he thinks he sees her frown at his description. A woman with morals, perhaps? He thinks.

“You lured me into a trap, and now you want my help?”

“If Anso has told you to divert an ambush of Tevinter bounty hunters, would you have done it?”

“Good point.” She seems to be smiling. At least she is not dishonest.

“Had I known of you earlier, I might have asked you personally. I had only Anso to rely on, I fear. I am not lying to you now. Please help me do this”

He has asked this strange woman for her help once again. He sees a flicker of something flash through her eyes as if she’s weighing up the risk versus reward of helping a fugitive slave. A lot of risk for little reward. He thinks she’ll turn him down. She doesn’t.

“Looks like it’s going to be a long night.”

“I will find a way to repay you. I swear it.”

He explains the details and then leaves, presuming she’ll follow along. When he arrives at the mansion, he begins pacing, especially when he realises that she and her companions are not immediately behind him. He’s convinced she’s gone back on her word, and he feels anger rising up. It’s almost five minutes later when she appears, exchanging empty words with the man who accompanies her. The dwarf and the heavily armoured woman follow her as though it is their place, but the human man who follows seems less happy to be caught in her wake.

“I still don’t think this is a good idea. Getting involved with slavery?”

“I’m not **getting involved** , I’m trying to stop it.”

“Is there a difference?”

She pinches the bridge of her nose and huffs in frustration.

“Carver, are you going to stop talking **anytime soon**? Because I don’t know that throwing around the phrase ‘getting involved in slavery’ will be particularly helpful to our ‘laying low’ plan.”

“Your plan, not mine.”

“Our plan!”

“Not like I had much say in it.”

“Oh by the maker, please stop. This conversation is going nowhere.” She stops in front of Fenris and glances briefly at the door to the manor.

“No one has left the mansion, but I’ve heard nothing within. Danarius may know we’re here, I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“I could stand to know a little more about this Danarius.”

“He is a magister with the Tevinter Imperium.”

“Oh, is that all? Nothing to worry about then,” the dwarf jokes, and a small smile plays at the woman’s lightly rouged lips.

“There, he is a wealthy mage with great influence. Here, he is but a man who sweats like any other when death comes for him.” 

“What’s the worst that could happen?” She comments lightly. He bristles, unsure if her joke is for his benefit or if it is merely part of her personality - just part of who she is. He stops himself from thinking back to what he has already experienced at Danarius’s hands - from imagining what could possibly be worse.

“I do not fear death, though that does not mean we should be reckless.” He turns to head inside, though not before catching a glimpse of that smirk on her lips.

“You should go. We don’t really need three warriors to do this. Besides, you’re clearly tired,” she says, and he momentarily thinks she is talking to him.

“Then **why** did you drag me **out** here?” A voice replies, and if Fenris didn’t know better, he’d think that the fully grown human man - Carver - is whining.

“Well, you’re **such** fun to be around,” she jokes, and though the dwarf chuckles and the heavily-armoured woman’s eyes shine a little, Carver scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“Just… just go home, alright? I’ll be back soon,” she sighs. Home, Fenris thinks. So they are… together. He isn’t sure why he feels a little disappointed. He’s just met the woman. Perhaps it’s because she seems so capable, so sure of herself. “Go on, shoo! Don’t bother staying up!” she jokes, and the laughter is back in her voice. Carver leaves, grumbling under his breath. She waves him away as she rolls her eyes.

“Junior’s still a delight I see,” The dwarf says.

“Maker, he didn’t even **want** to come, then when I said he could go he gets angry with me. I honestly don’t think I can win with him,” she jokes back, but there’s a hint of genuine disappointment in her voice. She sounds resigned to this sort of behaviour. Fenris wonders why she wastes her time on someone so… he can’t think of the right word. And then he wonders why he even **cares**.

Clearing his throat, he gestures to the door. She smiles and walks past him, the dwarf and warrior woman in tow. Once inside, he takes up position slightly behind her; though he had expected to lead the charge, she seems comfortable taking the lead, and her companions seem used to following her.

“I am not afraid of you, Danarius!”

She raises a brow at his sudden yell, as though questioning why he’s antagonising Danarius.

“Sure, invite the wrath of the scary magister, let him know we’re here, that seems smart,” she mutters to the dwarf, who snickers. Nevertheless, she carries on, opening the door to reveal a trap on the other side.

She waves her hand at the trap, as though expecting it to magically disappear. Which it does. If by ‘magic’ one means a dwarven companion immediately doing as one silently asks and disarming it, that is. No words pass between the pair, but she smiles brightly at him anyway.

She strides into the room, stepping over the remainders of the trap, and is immediately surrounded by… shades. Eight of them to be precise.

Immediately Fenris leaps into the fray, swinging his blade at the nearest mass, slicing it in twain. The dwarf has pulled out some sort of crossbow contraption, though it looks like nothing Fenris has ever seen. A rain of arrows begins to fall, the warrior woman draws her sword and is using her shield to force the shades away from her allies. The woman with lyrium eyes has drawn a dual-ended staff from her back and is using one end to bash the shades while the blade on the other slices through them. It’s a free for all, but it looks as though she and her allies have done it a thousand times. They move both independently and as a unit, aware of each other’s location at all times. Suddenly, another four shades appear, and they’re stronger than the first wave. He returns his attention to the black masses of energy, refusing to be distracted by her prowess. It’s then that he feels it, the lyrium in his skin. It burns then aches as if it wants to escape his flesh.

Magic.

It must be Danarius, he’s sure of it. He’s only felt like this around powerful magic. After clearing the room, he starts to yell:

“He sends spirits to do his fighting for him. Danarius! Can you hear me? Your pets cannot stop us!”

He twitches when he hears himself shout ‘us’ and not ‘me’. It is always just him, any company he has kept in the last few years are merely hired hands of little substance. But even then it was only ‘him’, never ‘them’. When did ‘me’ become ‘us’?

As they wander to the next room, the aching stops, and he wonders if he imagined it. They are in the grand hall of the mansion now, tiles loose on the floor and a ceiling that’s half gone. Danarius’s standards must be slipping. Usually, the man wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this. As he thinks this, another wave of shades materialise, this time accompanied by a rage demon. Danarius is sending demons after him now. He supposes it was only a matter of time.

They fight the spirits and Fenris finds himself growing increasingly tired of this. Every time they begin another battle, his markings start to itch. It’s not as painful as it was back in Tevinter - if anything it’s more of an irritating, heated sensation than a horrifying one. But it is disquieting nonetheless. Still, they sweep the mansion. They continue to fight, and he continues to ignore his itch and his temporary allies in favour of destroying anything that dares cross him. In between battles the three others regroup, the dwarf and the white-haired leader scouring for loot in chests or near corpses while the guard-like woman stands - well - guard. He notes that the lyrium eyed woman seems to have the final say on what comes with them. Definitely the one in charge then. Which would surprise him, considering the apparent strength of her female companion. He’d have thought that the slimmer, less armoured woman would defer to her. She doesn’t. As they walk, she converses lightly with her allies… friends actually, he thinks would be a more accurate term. Before entering another door, she turns to glance at them, as though asking for an opinion. They’re almost through searching, and Danarius still hasn’t been seen.

“He must be around here somewhere! Danarius would never flee,” Fenris answers her unasked question. Again those pale brows rise at his answer as if to say ‘Well it certainly looks like he has’. However, she does not voice her concerns, merely nodding at him and looking at her companions.

“Lead the way,” the dwarf encourages, and although Fenris thinks that having the rogue in front of them to detect the traps **before** they walk across them would be more helpful, the woman smiles and complies.

They’re at the back of the house now, and Fenris questions why they’re wasting time when Danarius is likely in the grander quarters of the house.

“We need to find him before he escapes,” he urges as she bends at the waist to open a chest for loot yet again.

She glances over her shoulder at him, smiling coyly. He feels his chest tighten at the look in her eyes. She seems so confident that she knows what she’s doing, that she knows what’s best. He’s not sure if he believes it. Her eyes shine with mirth, as though she’s amused by him. He finds it irritating. She clearly has no idea what’s at stake here; otherwise, she wouldn’t be wasting her time picking through chests-

She straightens suddenly, before sauntering over to him. He wishes his eyes weren’t drawn to the sway of her hips. To the sash tied around and below her perfect waist, cloth of blood-red against blackest black. She smiles slightly, patting a pouch that dangles from said hips; it must contain whatever it is she found in the chest. He decides to pretend he was looking at the pouch and not… her. Just as she reaches him, she grins, turns away and begins to make her way back to the grand hall. He’s not sure what to make of this, but he follows her anyway.

“Hurry up you lot!” Her tone is teasing.

She climbs the staircase swiftly, and it’s a rush to catch up. He reaches for the handle of the largest door there and hisses when it doesn’t budge.

“Locked,” he mutters, trying to force it open. When it becomes clear that force isn’t going to help him, he turns to search for a way in.

“A-hem.” She coughs pointedly, before reaching into her pouch and pulling out a key.

“How did you-”

“When we first swept this room, I tried the door as you fought. I figured the key **must** be around here **somewhere**. Why, did you think I wasn’t paying attention to our goal?” she teases. “I don’t know why you’re so shocked about this key - I thought you saw me pocket it back in that last room.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Well, why **else** would you be watching my hips **so intently**?” she chuckles as she turns to unlock the door. Fenris opens and closes his mouth, doing what he is sure is an accurate impression of a gaping fish. He hears a snort from behind him and glances to see the dwarf chuckling, almost proudly. He growls, and the dwarf stops laughing, but it does not stop the flush that creeps to Fenris’s cheeks or the mirth in the others’ eyes.

The door opens with a thud against the wall, but the room is entirely empty. A shriek from behind the group alerts them to the presence of a dozen shades on the lower level, advancing towards the stairs.

“Go down!” The woman yells, and Fenris and her friends are quick to obey her. Why is he following her orders?

Once again, the itching begins, but he cannot for the life of him explain why. If Danarius isn’t in that room, and he isn’t anywhere else, then he cannot be in the mansion. He must have fled. So where is the magic coming from?

 _One of them._ A voice in his head whispers, and he looks up from a felled shade to the warrior and archer who fight near him. Not a trace of magic from either of them. He then turns to stare at **her** as she stands at the top of the staircase, battling an Arcane Horror. She seems to be encased in clumps and shards of… rock? He sees her reach her hand out to her enemy, and watches, enraptured, as lightning leaps from her to it. She is fast, precise and deadly in her movements. The Horror crumples at her feet. He sucks in a breath, then turns away until his back is to a wall. No sense leaving himself exposed more than necessary, especially since it seems there was a mage in their midst.

His distraction nearly costs him his life at the hands - claws, paws?- of a pair of shades that somehow manage to flank him.

Sudden bursts of lightning begin to strike the foes surrounding him, and he knows then that she is up there, watching him, as she summons the elements to do her bidding. To protect him. He should be thankful that she clearly saved him, but his stomach is turning in revulsion. The closer he gets to her magic, the more the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

The battle ends surprisingly quickly, and she has the **gall** to grin at him as she hops down the staircase to join the rest of the group. He cracks his neck and looks at her out of the corner of his eye. Neither the dwarf nor the soldier seem surprised at her show of magic. In fact, the dwarf cracks a joke:

“Always knew there was a spark between us.”

“Yes, the atmosphere is electric,” she laughs back. Oh, that laugh. Had he not been feeling extremely nauseous at the thought of working alongside a mage, he would have focused on the sound. Savoured it. Instead, all he can think about is getting out - away. Danarius is gone and with him the chance to settle this.

“Gone. I had hoped… no, it doesn’t matter any longer.” He tells her to take whatever valuables she and hers find - as if they hadn’t already been doing so.

He stalks outside, ignoring the way her eyes follow him carefully. Like she is concerned for him. Like she actually cares.

A few minutes later - he presumes after the group has thoroughly looted the building - they emerge, dwarf and bright-eyes chattering away as the shield-bearing woman smiles indulgently.

“It never ends. I escaped a land of dark magic only to have it hunt me at every turn. It is a plague that is burned into my flesh and my soul. And now I find myself in the company of yet another mage.” He sighs, pushing off the wall he leans against to stamp up to her, green eyes boring into lyrium blue. “I saw you casting spells inside. I should have realised sooner what you were. Tell me then: what manner of mage are you? What is it that you seek?”

He tells himself his sense of betrayal is justified, that although he likely owes her his life, mages are cruel and easily led astray. She seems slightly startled by his sudden distaste, but quickly schools her expression into one of quiet observation. She gazes calmly at him, not rising to the obvious bait.

“You want me to tell you and spoil all the fun?” she answers, brows raised slightly.

Again, he feels as though she is testing him. Challenging him. She wants him to bare all. To either admit his prejudices or renounce them. He will not. Her pretty eyes dart around slightly as she watches his face for tells.

“You are skilled - I know that much.”

“Not **all** mages are alike - or I’d be the first to act,” The warrior woman interjects. Briefly, the woman -mage- smiles at her, as though her support is both unexpected and welcome. He wonders how it feels to be caught in that look. To have those bright eyes shine so **affectionately** for him.

“I imagine I appear ungrateful. If so I apologise, for nothing could be further from the truth. I did not find Danarius, but I still owe you a debt. Here is all the coin I have, as Anso promised. Should you find yourself in need of assistance, I would gladly render it.”

Why am I offering to help a mage? He questions himself, but the statement is in the air, and he cannot retract it now, even if he had wanted to. And frankly, he isn’t **entirely** sure that he does.

His offer seems to surprise her, as well.

“You didn’t seem all that **thrilled** with me a moment ago.”

"You are not Danarius. Whether you are anything like him remains to be seen.” She frowns at that. Perhaps it’s the implication that she could be anything like a magister. Like those who hurt him.

“Are you going to have a problem with my companions?” She presses.

“I will watch them carefully if we travel together, I can promise no more.”

Seemingly satisfied that he isn’t about to turn her or her other companions into the templars, she begins to ask about Danarius. How he had gotten away. What the magister was after other than a runaway slave.

“He doesn’t want me at all, just the markings on my skin. They are lyrium, burned into my flesh to provide the power that Danarius required of his pet.” He spits the last word at her, and sympathy flashes through her eyes. “And now he wishes his precious investment returned, even if he must rip it from my corpse.”

All at once, her smile is back, even if it is more of a cheeky smirk.

“Seems like a waste of a perfectly handsome elf.”

He chokes on the laugh that escapes him then, and her grin widens. She seems thrilled that she’s drawn some joy from this moment. That she’s made him momentarily happy. It’s as if she’s only truly happy when she makes others so. He reigns his chuckle in and continues to answer her earlier question.

“The truth is, I know nothing of the ritual that placed these markings on me. It was Danarius’s choice, one he now regrets.”

“I’ve seen some of your abilities. Do they come from those markings?”

_Ah yes. My abilities._

“Some. All I know is that even at the Imperium, warriors such as myself are rare. Perhaps they believe I should feel honoured?”

She wrinkles her nose at that, at the implication that any honour comes from such treatment. If she wasn’t a mage, he would think he had found an ally. A friend.

“Do you think your master will keep chasing you?”

“He is too proud not to. Perhaps one day the hunt will cost him more than he is willing to pay, but I doubt that matters any longer.”

She nods and makes a low, humming sound. 

“I’m planning an expedition I might need help with.” It takes him a second to understand that she’s accepting his earlier offer. That she approves of him. He chastises himself for being so affected by what a **mage** thinks of him.

“Should you ever have need of me, I will be here. If Danarius wishes his mansion back, he is free to return and claim it. Beyond that, I am at your disposal.” He inclines his head and turns to leave, to find a place to try to sleep.

“Wait!”

“Yes?” He looks back at her.

“You’re seriously going to sleep in there?”

“Yes.”

“With all the… bodies?”

It had not occurred to him that he would be sleeping surrounded by death. While he’s slept in worse places, the thought of voluntarily resting surrounded by magical residue has him shaken.

“I- yes,” he replies stubbornly, unwilling to show weakness.

“I’d offer that you spend the night in my house but…” she pauses, biting her lip. “I don’t think it would work out. Not enough room. And Carver would utterly flip. Not that what **he thinks** really **matters**.”

The dwarf laughs.

“I won’t stay under the same roof as a mage.”

“Yes, I gathered that as well,” she huffs and rolls her eyes before marching past him back inside.

“Where are you-”

“I’m fixing this!” She yells back, and the dwarf and other woman move to follow. She turns on her heel quickly, holding out a hand to halt them.

“Ave, it’s all right. You should go and rest - busy day of Captain-ing tomorrow.”

“But-”

“Aveline.” She raises her cloth-clad hands, placatingly, “It’s okay. Really.”

Aveline’s gaze flits between Fenris and the other woman, and she looks slightly fearful.

“I really don’t know if this is a good-“

“I promise I’ll be alright.” Fenris realises then that the guard isn’t afraid **of** the mage - she’s afraid **for** her. She’s worried his hatred of mages will cause him to harm this woman. “And Varric, I presume you and Bianca want to get back to your suite. I can handle the cleanup, I swear.”

Now the dwarf looks nervous for her. In that glance, Fenris can see how loved this woman is. How much they care for her. It makes him ache. Did he ever have people like that, before the markings? Or was he always alone, like he is now?

“If you’re certain, then I suppose we’ll head off. I expect to see you bright and early tomorrow so I can check on you.”

“So, midday then?”

“What? How dare you Serah! I will be up by the eleventh hour at the latest.”

“Varric, I have never known you to willingly be up earlier than midday in all the months since we met.”

“You get me up before then to go adventuring regularly.”

“That’s why I said **willingly**.” She smirks and sticks out her tongue. “Now, off you both go. I’m in no danger, I swear. I can defend myself. Besides, if I go missing, you know where I last was!”

Her two friends freeze, matching expressions of distress etched on their faces.

“That isn’t funny-”

“I agree with the Captain, that was too far.”

“Oh, fine. I apologise,” she says, muttering under her breath: “spoilsports.” If they hear her grumble they don’t acknowledge it.

With a final, stern glance at Fenris that screams ‘I’ll be keeping an eye on you’, Aveline leaves.

“Noon tomorrow then.” Varric looks over at Fenris appraisingly, before smiling at his pale human friend.

“Of course. I promise I won’t stand my trusty dwarf up.”

Varric leaves, chuckling to himself as he goes.

“He’ll have his contacts watching me until I get home no doubt,” she says softly as she watches her friends leave.

“What?”

She smiles. “His contacts. Don’t ask how I know, but I do. I realised a few days after I met him. Our first encounter was **far** too serendipitous. Still, I don’t think he knows that I know about it, and I’ll let him hold onto his pride.” She turns and walks inside. “Are you coming?” she yells out at him, and he goes after her, once again incapable of doing anything but follow her. 

When they’re standing in the main hall again, she stands with her hands on her hips, surveying the room. “I don’t think we’ll have to worry much about the shade remnants. They’ll have dissolved into the ether within the hour. If you like I can cast a purification spell to speed that up, but I have a feeling you’d be uncomfortable with that.” He does not respond, so she continues, “It’s the remains of the former occupants that I’m concerned about. A drag-and-burn should do nicely.”

“A drag and what?”

“Oh.” She looks up from her monologue and coughs awkwardly. “A drag-and burn. Sorry, it’s a phrase from my smuggling days. Drag the bodies to a designated open area and burn them - give them their last rites. Carver and Athenril always said it was a waste of time and energy, but Aveline and I insisted that it was important.”

“You were a smuggler?”

“I’m a lot of things,” she says, winking at him. “But yes. A smuggler with Athenril's gang." she pauses. "And I should probably mention that we never dealt in slaves or flesh. Poisons, herbs and lyrium, however, were fair game." He supposes he should be happy that she wasn't a former slaver. "Now, are you going to help me with this?” She starts dragging what appears to have been a servant to the back door. Through the window, he can see a small open area that must have previously served as a garden. 

It’s almost painful to watch, the way her small body attempts to do something requiring such strength.

“Allow me.” He says before he can stop himself, deftly lifting it into his arms.

“Oh, thank you.” She coughs again, rubbing the back of her neck uncomfortably. “Let’s… let’s head outside.”

She pushes the door open for him, but he misjudges the width of the doorway and brushes up against her body. He shouldn’t be finding it so hard to breathe, after all he is carrying a different type of body to hers. But still, being near her makes him tingle. Perhaps it’s the magic. That must be it. Her magic is the only reason his skin is on fire where the pair of them touched.

“Fenris? Are you alright?” Her question startles him from his thoughts. 

“Fine,” he mumbles. They’ve finally made it outside, but without her guiding him, without clear instructions, he stands in the garden, with a corpse in his arms, unsure what he is supposed to do next.

“Just place him in right here please.” She directs him to a spot directly in the centre of the garden. He obliges her, gently placing the body down. “Right, let’s get the rest of them.”

After a few minutes of collecting the other two bodies, they finally have the makings for a funeral pyre. Apart from any fuel for the non-existent fire, of course.

She fumbles around one of her many pockets for something and exclaims in triumph when she pulls out herbs of some sort. She moves over to the makeshift pyre, placing the herbs in various places. She steps back to stand next to him, bowing her head. Flames burst up around the pile of corpses as if from nowhere, and he jumps backwards. He realises that it must have been her magic, but the suddenness has him on edge. He doesn’t notice his breathing becoming ragged and panicked until she steps closer to him, reaching out for him. He stumbles backwards, inherently afraid of the magic from her hands.

“Oh! I’m sorry! I didn’t think about it before I did it. I’ll warn you next time I promise.”

He doesn’t know if he should be comforted by her concern or worried about the seemingly inevitable ‘next time’.

“Let’s see if I can remember this correctly.” She clears her throat. “Ashes we were and ashes we become. Maker give these people a place at your side. Let us take comfort in the peace they have found in eternity.” She once again bows her head.

“Right. I think we’re done here. This should help purify the building. I’ll come back tomorrow to check that everything is alright. Unless- where **exactly** are you planning on sleeping?”

He glances up at a big window behind her: the largest room in the building. It’s situated at the top of the staircase, a strategically wise position. When they were in there earlier, he even saw a bed and fireplace.

“Oh. The master bedroom? Very well.” She has read his intentions from a single glance. She brushes past him, heads inside and climbs the stairs; Fenris, once again, follows, caught in her wake.

She starts fussing around like a mother hen, shaking out the bedding and haphazardly dusting the basic furniture. He watches her, unsure what exactly her intentions are, or what she expects him to do. He estimates she has been cleaning for almost half an hour when she finally seems to decide that enough is enough, and stops moving. She pulls out more of those herbs from before, this time keeping them clutched in her fist.

“I’m going to light this now.”

“Very well,” he says, though he doesn’t register what is happening. She can clearly tell, as she raises her brows and reiterates.

“You know, light it. With fire. **Magic fire**.”

“Oh!” He realises what she’s doing now. She’s preparing him for an uncomfortable experience.

She lights the herbs and begins drawing shapes in the air, letting the sweet-smelling smoke drift around her.

“What are you doing?”

“Making it easier for you to sleep. The herbs downstairs were for disguising and purifying funeral rites, but these are to help you sleep easier. I can’t imagine what sort of day you must have had.

She isn’t joking. The fumes are like a gentle caress, and her smile is placating, not teasing. Once she’s satisfied that she has helped him, she blows out the smoke and places the remnants of the herbs in the fire grate.

“So you can use them again.” She answers an unasked question.

“So…” 

“So…?”

“You have some interesting allies.” He settles on a topic. He isn’t sure why he wants to keep the conversation going. He tells himself it’s because he wants to learn more about this mage, so he can keep an eye on her. It **definitely** isn’t because her company soothes him, **nor** is it because he wants to be the focus of her attention. And it **certainly** isn’t because he wants to keep her from returning to this Carver fellow.

“Ha! That’s one word for our rag-tag crew.”

“So the Guard is..?”

“Captain of Kirkwall’s Guard.”

His eyes bulge out of their sockets. The Guard Captain knowingly associates with - and follows - an apostate?

“She just got promoted last month actually, for uncovering the corruption of the former Captain.” She leans against the arm of a chair as she speaks, smiling gently.

“That is…” he cannot find a word to accurately express his doubts.

“Impressive, isn’t it? I’m happy for her, she deserves this after the year she’s had. Don’t tell her I said that.” 

He can hear the pride leaking from her voice.

“Which part?”

“The part about the last year - it’s not my story to tell. Or about being happy for her, she’ll think I’ve gone soft.”

“As you wish.” He finding himself sighing. Is he keeping secrets for this mage now? “And the dwarf?”

“Varric? Ah, he’s a storyteller, merchant’s guild member and a… what was it again? Oh yes - ‘professional younger brother’. Don’t ask what that means because I don’t know and frankly I don’t want to. He and Bianca go everywhere together.”

“Bianca?”

“The crossbow. Don’t ask.”

_Noted._

“And the other man? Carver? He did not seem happy to get involved.”

“Ah, that’s just how Carver always is. He hates every decision I make, but he’ll go along with it anyway. Drives me half-mad sometimes but I put up with him,” she jests.

She stands and walks over to him.

Any other questions about my group? Or the ones you’ve met, anyway.”

“What about you?” He asks, and suddenly his mouth is dry, and he isn’t sure why.

“Me? There’s nothing much to tell, I’m not very interesting.”

He doubts that highly.

“Let’s see, I’m a refugee from Ferelden. I came here with…” she pauses and sighs, “With my family. What’s left of it anyway. I used to run with the Athenril, but now I’m free and running around picking up the jobs nobody else wants. Oh, and I’m an apostate, but I think you knew that already.”

“Indeed.”

Her jovial attitude to her status is not amusing to him, and she clearly knows it. She scratches the back of her head awkwardly, sending the white hairs from her braid into disarray.

“I will watch my back, but I will not rescind my word. If you require aid, I shall give it.”

“And if you need anything, you can always come to me, Fenris. I will do my best to help.”

“Ah- thank you…?”

“Serah Hawke,” she says, bowing at the waist with a flourish, “At your service.” She looks up from her bend and smiles. Her eyes sparkle up at him, and he feels his breath hitch in his throat. Now he knows what it’s like to fully hold her attention. It’s breathtaking.

A human, a beautiful woman, a mage is bowing to him, declaring herself willing to help him, to serve him. His brain is going into overdrive, unsure how to process it. To be treated as an equal is not something he has come to expect from humans or mages. And what’s even more jarring is that he believes her. Believes that she genuinely does want to help him. That she isn’t joking.

“Um…” He can’t find the words to express his confusion, and he doesn’t really want to. Better for her to think him unaffected.

“Oh! Sorry!” She looks startled as she bolts upright, biting a plump lip. “I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t mean- Oh it sounded like I was mocking you didn’t it? I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like that. Please believe that I wouldn’t make light of… of… everything you must have been through.”

_She thinks she offended me?_

It couldn’t be less true. If she were any less unnerved, he’d be of a mind to keep her squirming, just to watch her many expressions. To see those pretty eyes dart around as if looking for an escape from the conversation. To watch her worry her bottom lip. To focus on her half-gloved hands fidgeting in front of her. After a moment of pained silence, he decides to end her suffering.

“I did not think you meant it that way,” he says slowly, now unsure how to end this oppressive atmosphere.

Oh- really? Oh, that’s good. Yes. Good.” She coughs into her hand, awkwardly, clearing her throat to stop her rambling. A slight blush blossoms across her cheeks and it contrasts her otherwise pale visage. “I should probably leave before I make things worse.”

He’s not sure her presence could make things - anything- worse. She’s so bright - and judging from this exchange- remarkably earnest.

“Very well.”

She is standing by the door, and she glances over her shoulder to wave at him.

“It was a pleasure to meet you. Apart from all the slave hunters and the shades and the death, of course.”

He smiles slightly. “Of course.”

“I’ll call on you soon, I’m sure. Goodbye, Fenris.” She leaves.

Despite everything, he’s smiled more today than he has in many months on the run. More than he ever smiled as a slave. More than he can remember smiling in his entire life. He realises he’s still smiling, staring after her and the empty doorway.

“Goodbye, Hawke.”

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who's interested, the portrait shown at the beginning of this chapter is on tumblr and Redbubble.
> 
> Tumblr: https://blogofathousanddoodles.tumblr.com  
> Redbubble: https://www.redbubble.com/people/eloisarelish/works/43569042-a-lyrium-eyed-mage?asc=u&c=440711-fandom-inspired


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